


The Strong One

by aprilleigh



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilleigh/pseuds/aprilleigh
Summary: It was supposed to be her turn to hold the strength. Her turn to gather the forces, reinforce the walls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set post Maelstrom, but spoilers through Crossroads. Thanks go to my wonderful betas- deepforestowland sabaceanbabe- you guys made my first foray into BSG fic a lovely experience.

There was something so darkly tragic about the broken ship, miniature or not. Perhaps it was the way it lay silent and listless on his desk. Perhaps it was the miniature flotsam and jetsam littered around it. Or perhaps it was simply because the ship reminded her so much of the man crying on the couch, empty bottle at his side.

There were times Laura wished she couldn't read him so completely, and the day Kara died was one of them. She didn't want to see it as he broke apart before her. It frightened her how little hope she saw in his eyes, and she could feel him disappearing into the distance. "She's gone," he said and something deep inside her shattered and the pieces twisted in her gut.

She wanted to speak, to tell him something reassuring, something easy. A lie even, but the words knotted and caught in a thick lump of suffering that had found its way into her vocal cords. She reached out and traced the softness of his cheek and Bill leaned into her palm, closing his eyes with something she dimly recognized as contentment. If something so simple could give him comfort, what had become of his life? And if she could be so affected by his reaction, what had become of hers? 

On impulse, Laura leaned in and kissed him, a way to connect her to him, a way to say something she could not yet say. "I'm here," she told him, keeping her voice tender and the kiss a soft peck, not a lingering thing. But then he was there, his face against hers, his mouth encountering hers with the rough collision of reality, overwhelming and somehow gentle at the same time. And she responded, but just a little, able to only take so much of his grief-soaked kiss before pulling away. She was his security, then - the one thing he could touch without his fingers slipping through and she understood.

It was her turn to hold the strength. Her turn to gather the forces, reinforce the walls. And as much as she resisted this role, hated the responsibility of the position, she knew what she needed to do. Laura placed his head on her shoulder and let him take what he needed from her. It was her turn. 

*          *          *

She didn't know what woke her hours later. When consciousness began filtering in, there was no one thing that drew her attention and it took her longer than it should have to notice Bill's head in her lap. 

Laura had seen him sleep before. It was nothing remarkable to find him asleep in his quarters before meetings. The hours they kept were long and frequently odd. But those times that she had to wake him, she never had to grip his shoulder or speak loudly into his ear to bring him back into the conscious world. Those times he woke so quickly and easily that her mere presence was all it took. She knew it was likely due to his military training, but she always took kind of comfort in that fact.

But he didn't wake up this time and she did not have the heart to forcibly rouse him, especially when he shifted and turned his body toward her. His right arm moved to curl around her waist and his face actually nuzzled her abdomen.

This was comfort. So rare these days. If he could find it even if for a few minutes, how could she deny him that? She felt that she couldn't deny him anything. So she made herself comfortable as was possible, and let herself fall back asleep.  


When she woke in the morning, he was gone. They both knew that there was no other place he needed or wanted to be, but he ran, and she let him. Later, when she was trying to get her work done on Colonial One, she thought about finding an excuse to visit him again and offering more than just comfort.

But then she got the message from the doctor.

*          *          *

'Return Cottle's call.' The three words made a short stab across the scrap of paper. Three words written in Tory's precise writing. Three words that told Laura the cancer was back. Her hand closed into a fist around the paper before she had the chance to acknowledge what she had read.

Dying leader or not, she could fight it this time. She had something to fight for, someone to share the burden with. She thought of Bill and then she thought of Kara and of strength left to give, and a knot formed in her stomach. So she delayed, and avoided the doctor as long as the President allowed, but not as long as Laura would have liked. 

It was easy enough to avoid Cottle, less easy to avoid Bill. But Bill was lost in his grief and his work and simply didn't notice at first. When he finally realized he hadn't spoken to her in two days, he remembered the last time they were together. He remembered a drunken kiss and waking up with his head in her lap. He wouldn't have called what he felt embarrassment, but he couldn't think of a better word, so he didn't call it anything. 

And when Cottle made a point to stop Bill in the hall that day and ask how he was doing, he didn't notice the surprise in the doctor's eyes when Bill spoke of Kara.

*          *          *

She let four days pass before allowing Cottle to catch her. "Madame President, are you avoiding me?" the doctor asked in his gruff voice.

"Of course not, Doctor. I've just been very busy." The lies didn't used to be this easy.

Cottle sighed but knew better then to press, and he talked of statistics and chances, with words like 'unusual findings' and 'inconclusive, but we have to make sure' thrown in, and all she could think about was how she was dying again. And how she had to tell Bill now, the reprieve she managed to create was over. Four days was not enough time, but there would never be enough time for their losses. And she would have to watch as the pain came to his eyes, then denial and then finally acceptance and she would have to watch him muster up strength that he didn't have to stand by her side. And damn it, the knot in her abdomen grew tighter and she didn't hear much else.

"...so you'll be here tomorrow?" The long pause indicated he was expecting a response, and she found herself saying, "Bright and early," in as light a tone as possible. The smile hurt, and she was relived when he finally hung up and saved her from further conversation.

She had not realized just how hard she was grasping the phone until she tried to let go. Her fingers hurt as she carefully loosened her grip. Laura moved to hang up the receiver, but it inexplicability missed the cradle and fell to the floor with a crash. She bent forward and began to reach for the phone when she noticed the trembling in her hand. She stared at it for a moment, not seeming to recognize it as a part of her. After a few seconds of intense concentration, the trembling stopped. She had made her promise to Cottle, and prepared to fracture Bill a little more.

*          *          *

Bill was engaged in a salvage operation. Not yet rebuilding, but rather taking the model ship apart further, broken piece by broken piece. Gentle this time. Anger muted to sorrow. Separating what could be saved from that which was completely destroyed. She wondered what would happen if he discovered the latter was too great. Would he still try to make his repairs? Would he forge on, ignoring the broken and missing parts? Or would he claim defeat, and surrender, and sweep the ship off to recycling? 

Bill looked up as Laura entered. She had to look away from his haunted eyes and took a deep breath to control her impulse to comfort him. 'I have nothing to give him,' she thought.

"Hello," she said simply. Carefully. She was going to tell him that day. She had to. She glanced at his clock, which showed she had just ten minutes before her appointment, and she wanted to laugh at the relief she felt. She hated that while she knew her subconscious was at work here, she couldn't quite tell if she wanted to avoid telling Bill, or if she simply wanted to delay her appointment. 

Bill removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand, looking at her blearily. "Good to see you," he said and she could see the relief on his face. "It's been a while. You canceled a couple of our meetings." He watched her for a long moment, as though trying to gauge her reaction, and then gave her a peculiar half-smile.

"I've been busy, plans change." She shrugged, and he couldn't tell if she was apologetic or not.

"Busy?" He knew she was lying, he just didn't know how big a lie it was yet.

He stared into her, and she wanted to shift her eyes and plan an escape route, but somehow felt that if she did, he had won. What, she wasn’t sure. "I'm always busy. There’s always too much to be done."

He nodded in agreement. "Well, I'm glad you're here. Although I didn't expect to see you until this afternoon."

"I have an appointment this morning," 

He noticed the subtle change in her tone and something glimmered in his mind, almost like a memory from a prior existence, and he asked without being able to articulate why. "Are you- are things okay? You don't look-" He stopped, realizing the dangerous path he walked. "You seem tired, Laura," he finished lamely.

Truth was she hadn't been sleeping. She was a bit ragged around the edges. She was lost, trying to anchor herself, to find a reference point in a known reality. She looked at the clock again, as though somehow knowing the time would also help her find her place in the world. Five more minutes.

"Is it the trial? Baltar? I know it's stressful, but we'll get through this," he offered, concern in his voice.

She wanted to just say yes. It was a believable out; he would never know. "No. It's not the trial."

"It's not the dreams again?" And for a second she could taste the bitter Chamalla on her tongue.  _'No,'_ she thinks, _'the dreams come later.'_

"I haven't had dreams of New Caprica for months now,” she said with practiced politician ease, dismayed at how easily it came out. When had that become her default? When had the President replaced Laura?

His eyes narrowed at her tone, but otherwise his face remained impassive. "Then what is it? Do you know?" He looked down and his fingers played with a bit of broken wood, bracing for her response. When it didn't come, he looked up. 

_'Does he know?'_ She waited for any hint of knowledge to cross his face or betray him by manifesting itself in his body language. Laura sensed nothing but resignation and was saddened. And she couldn't tell him. Couldn't bear to pull him down further.

"No,” she lied, allowing it come into her eyes. 

He didn't ask. "There was a time when I would suggest warm milk." He returned his attention to his ship. "But unfortunately cows are in short supply these days." He was changing the subject, turning a page, running away and she was suddenly grateful. She found new facets of her fears just by dancing around them.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" 

_'You can come with me to my appointment,'_ she thought, but knew her moment to ask had passed. Instead, she smiled weakly and shook her head. "I just wanted to check in with you. See if I'd missed anything these past few days."

"Haven't missed much. Things have been nicely dull around here."

She paused. "Dull is a luxury. Give me dull and boring any day."

"So say we all.” And he smiled with his lips, but not his eyes, and she knew she must leave before the awful truth came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I'll see you this afternoon, Admiral."

"I look forward to it, Madame President." And for a moment he remembered how to be strong and he was the Admiral again, finding composure in the less emotional talk. Hurt and loss were pushed aside, and Laura's control was close to breaking. If she stayed, she would... Gods, if she stayed she would... what? Break down? Scream? Tell him?

Laura turned to leave, feeling like was running away only because she was. "Sorry about your ship." She wanted to give him more, but that was all she could spare.

She was already walking away when she heard his response. "Thank you," and she pretended not to hear the crack in his voice. 

She wondered then, would he have time to rebuild the ship before she, too, was gone? Would the damage he inflicted be greater with her death? Laura was blinking back tears before she realized it didn't matter. 

Because the damage would be permanent. Once she was gone, he wouldn't try to repair it.

She closed the hatch to his quarters and it clanged shut. It had never sounded so loud.

*          *          *

Again, Cottle found her. Laura had hoped to slip in and out of the sickbay with just a simple blood test, but suddenly he was at her side and she found herself being ushered to the imaging table.

The doctor was afraid. He was afraid that she’d do what she did last time. He was afraid that she’d ignore the signs for too long, and then try a home remedy no one believed would actually work.

But he need not worry. She wasn’t the same woman she had been then. The President did not give up so easily.

While she was scanned, she had to remain motionless, and in that stillness Cottle tried to convince her. She couldn't correct him, and even if she could, she wouldn't. Once she did that, he would be her doctor again, and the hint of friendship would be hidden behind his clichéd gruff exterior. Laura would hate him for that, but the President would understand. There was only so much caring to go around. 

She hated this neediness inside of her. The need for a friend wherever she could find one. The need to be missed, the need to be held; the need to be loved. And she hated the cancer, then. Not for creating these needs, but for making her notice them.

Cottle continued to plead his case as she dressed behind a curtain. She knew he was worried this would be the last time she'd willingly come see him. Idly she wondered if he'd plan a medical coup. For a moment, she pictured bars around a hospital bed, Cottle and Adama holding hands, begging, "Let us save you."

Laura pulled back the curtain with a snap, interrupting Cottle's latest plea. Her voice was unexpectedly sharp, slightly foreign to her own ear. "Tomorrow. We will discuss this tomorrow." Just one more day to gather her strength, and then she could cope. And she still had to tell Bill.

Something flickered across Cottle's eyes, and she felt oddly that she'd both disappointed him and confirmed something he already knew. "Fine, tomorrow it is. But no more putting this off. No more avoiding this." His tone tolerated no argument.

_'It's not the cancer I'm avoiding.'_ The lump was back in her throat. For some odd reason, ridiculous tears lingered under her lids, threatening to fall, and she could only nod her head in agreement.

*          *          *

Laura didn't remember much about the meeting. She let Zarek run the agenda, and she suspected by the generally pleased mood of the crowd that she should have found a few things to object to. She would pay for this later, but at that moment, she could only think about getting to his side. The room was still mostly full with other leaders of the fleet and anything they said would likely be overhead. That would keep her safe. President Roslin would not let Laura overstep her bounds.

Bill could tell that she was distracted, but so was he. He had that terrible feeling in his gut, the one that told of danger and pain about to arrive. He suspected, but he didn't quite know, and he hated Laura in that moment for not giving him a certainty to worry about.

If Laura saw any of that, she did not let it show. "I'm sorry to ask this so late in the day, but I was hoping I could find a free bed for the night." 

He smiled at a memory, and she knows what he would say before he said it. "You know you are always welcome in one of my beds, Madame President." And she almost had time to smile back before he continued.

"Another early appointment?" he asked, carelessly. Why did he ask that? Why here? Why now? And she felt in that instant she was too late. She had missed her chance at any kindness she could give him. Cruelty seemed to be all she could give him now. And she hated him so very much in that moment.

"Yes," she responded without thinking, revealing more than she'd intended. The President failed her. 

There was something in her voice that chilled him. And suddenly the loose fragments of knowledge coalesced. She only had appointments with one person. His voice held that icy control that always masked his deepest hurt or sharpest anger. "My quarters are yours for the duration." He stared at her, hot and fierce, wanting her to qualify her previous statement, to rationalize it away with the cool, detached control that he’d learned to expect from her over the years.

She saw her own frustrations and fears mirrored in his bright eyes, and already regretted her biting tone. "I don't want to put you out," she said, only because there were others around and this was how she was supposed to respond.

"I insist." And he hated her a little bit more for making him figure it out on his own, and she hated him a little bit more for not getting the chance to tell him. And they finished their conversation with ice on their lips.

"Thank you." The words were spoken like actors on a stage.

He nodded politely. "If you'll excuse me, I have to head to CIC.” She returned the nod and wondered how to make this right. 

*          *          *

He said he was going to CIC, but he headed straight to see Cottle. Once there, he simply stared at the man. Both knew that any question Bill asked would be met with a denial and a mention of patient confidentiality- which would say everything Bill needed to know. And so neither said a word. Bill left to get a drink and Cottle stayed behind and had a cigarette and both tried not to think about Laura.

*          *          *

That night she found him asleep- or was it passed out? - sprawled across his couch, a report on his chest, glasses dangling from his fingertips, and a glass nearly empty of its drink sitting on the table beside him. And she thought that maybe she should to hide the alcohol - at least for the next few days. 

She wondered if he was waiting up for her. 

Even as she considered waking him and sending him on his way, she knew she wouldn't. She thought of protocol and appearances and the fact that this would be the second time in a week she was his overnight guest and she simply didn't care. She couldn't let herself care because that would be another excuse not to tell him. 

But she still found reasons to delay. She found a report or three that must be reviewed and signed. She dressed for bed. And she told herself that she was just waiting for him to wake on his own.

She stood next to him and looked down on his slack face, surprised at how soft he looked. His face was smoother, his expression relaxed. _'Is this how I look when I sleep?'_ Somehow she doubted it.

Laura crossed her arms and with her thumb felt the bandage from the blood test through her robe. She was suddenly cold and she pulled her robe taut around her waist, redoing the knot. She was constricted inside, the springs so tightly wound that she felt as if she was going to burst.

And she so wanted to burst.

She found herself kneeling beside the couch; his head only inches from hers. An odd feeling ran through her body. What if he woke? What would she do? What excuse could she come up with to explain what she was doing?

She had no answers but remained where she was. She wanted him to wake.

He faced her, and she tilted her head so that they were on the same plane, eyes and lips even. She felt his breath against her face and she inhaled, filling her lungs with him.

And then Bill's eyes glittered open. He held her gaze, his eyes glowing under their drooping lids.

_'I'm caught,'_ she thought. _'Thank Gods.'_  


She waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't. All she could hear was the hum of the engines and the ticking of the clock and she realized that she was still cold. When would she be warm again? 

He closed his eyes. A minute passed and she began to think that he had fallen back to sleep. _'Is that all?'_ She was disappointed. 

"Are you going to sleep?" He finally spoke, finally gave in to the silence. _'I win.'_ she thought inanely, as if this were a contest. Though, at times it felt like it was.

"I can't," she said simply. _'I have something to tell you,'_ went unspoken.

He opened his eyes again and sat up rapidly, and she leaned away from him, startled by the sudden movement. Bill turned to her, studying her face. "You're tired." She knew that he was grasping at something irrelevant to the main topic, trying to take care of her without saying why. He needed to establish some basis for belief, to feel at least partly in control and she let him lead.

"I am." Again, nothing more to add. She was tired.

He glanced back to his rack, and nodded slightly, thinking. He moved again and helped her to her feet. They stood next to each other, his heat radiating off him and she felt warm for the first time that night. He pulled her gently to his bed. He met her gaze, and without breaking it, reached past her to the top of the spread. "You should go to bed."

He never looked away and all she could think about was the way his body curved over and around her, and how close his face was to hers. And she thought about what she could do in that moment. How a kiss could lead to more. Another delay. The right thing for the worst possible reason. 

She did nothing. And she was only a little surprised by the regret she felt.

The sheets pulled back, he straightened. "You need to rest," he repeated as he reached for her waist, for the tie on her robe, and loosened the knot. He gently peeled the robe from her shoulders and arms and twisted his body to carefully lay her robe across a chair.

Turning back to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and directed her to sit on the edge of the bed. His hands had not left her shoulders, and she felt the index finger of his right hand trace light circles on her nightgown. Laura tilted her head back to meet his face. The light was behind him, and she couldn't read his expression. Could he read hers? 

Innumerable moments passed, and then he moved again. Leaning over her, he guided her onto her back. He straightened and reached to the foot of the bed and pulled the covers over her. The bed was so cold.

He began to leave but she somehow managed to raise her hand to his, stopping him. As she reached up, her nightgown slipped down her arm and the bandage from her blood draw was revealed. Both their eyes moved to it at the same time, then back to meet the other.

His carefully arranged expression remained as it was. He’d done an impressive job and if she hadn’t known him for so long, she might have missed it, that raw look of hurt that swept over his face. And if she wanted to see that look again- which she did not- all she would have to do was punch him in the stomach.

There was a sudden intensity in his eyes that she had never seen before. His voice was leached of all accusation, but a note of hurt threaded through despite his best intentions. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question pained her more than she thought possible. 

She wanted to say so much, but could manage only one word. "Kara." She didn't tell him that it was her turn to be the strong one. She didn't say she couldn't ask for what he couldn't afford to give.

Disappointed, or perhaps just frustrated, he asked, "Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"Stay. Sleep with me." For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she decided to speak on her own or if he had somehow willed it out of her.

Her words surprised him; they surprised her. Not because of their implication, an implication that they would not think of then, but because they were spoken. They never used words to say these things. 

He asked, "Why?"

"I can't do this alone." She could say no more.

Her disclosure was met with silence and she chanced a glance at his face. His expression was unreadable, and with each passing second her doubts multiplied as the stillness stretched, thin and tenuous as a cobweb.

He walked away again, but this time she did not have the courage to stop him. She finally spoke, but it was too late.

He paused at the hatch, and she closed her eyes. She could not watch him leave. She heard the light switch being turned off, but she didn't hear the hatch opening.

Then she heard the lock slide into place.

She opened her eyes to the dark room. She heard him walk to the rack, and felt the vibration when he hit the edge. The bed dipped down as he sat to remove his shoes. First one, then the other dropped to the floor and then she heard the rustle of cloth as he shed his uniform.

The spread was pulled back and the bed dipped once more, and then he was next to her. Bill reached for her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as delicately as crystal, as solidly as stone and Laura laid her head against his chest, feeling the warmth and intensity of him.

Warm. She was warm.

And she felt his lips against her cheek. One, then two light kisses. Each kissing a tear away. When he spoke, his warm breath tickled her ear. "What time tomorrow?" 

Laura had been riding a crest of tension and uncertainty, holding her breath for days. She breathed out a long, shuddering breath that cautiously walked the thin wire between a sigh and a sob. Just as a wave crashes and gently disperses, those three words washed the tension away.

"I see Cottle at 9:00." And in the silence and in his arms she found strength. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course," he whispered. He said nothing more, but in that moment, it was enough. 


End file.
